


A Difficult Case

by sm_jl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Ron Weasley, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sm_jl/pseuds/sm_jl
Summary: Tensions are high between Ron & Hermione when he can't share the details of a case with her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	A Difficult Case

**Author's Note:**

> written for a Tumblr ask that be11atrixthestrange was kind enough to share :)

Their relationship was no stranger to long hours and late nights. It was quite often that one of them would be working late while the other waited up at home. On rarer, better occasions, they would both be holed up in their respective offices at the Ministry, sending the occasional interdepartmental memo back and forth or meeting in the cafeteria for a late night coffee or, on one particularly memorable night, engaging in a midnight romp in the aurors’ locker room.

It was different, lately. Rather than their typically equal division of late nights, it was Ron who was staying at the Ministry till well past quitting time, Ron who picked at takeout containers that were no substitute for dinner with his fiancée, Ron who would work himself just up to the point of being too tired to apparate but never past it and crawled into bed in the wee hours to be met with Hermione’s back more often than not. He knew she understood, but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that that meant she liked it. “It’s just lonely at home,” Hermione had said, one of the very few times she had brought it up. Ron had responded the same way each time: “You’ll have me back when the case is done.”

The problem was, he had no idea when that would be.

Days had turned into weeks that had turned into months. The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even talk to her about it. Their relationship was no stranger to work-related secrets, either—it was the nature of both of their jobs and the high-level security clearance that accompanied them—but that didn’t exactly make it easier. They made it a point to share what they could with each other; sometimes it was everything but names, which were easy enough to suss out when all the other details had been able to be provided.

Then there were, though rare, cases like this one. Ron had given Hermione only the very broadest information: his team was investigating an international smuggling ring. He’d voluntarily left out the details of _what_ was being smuggled for her own good; the fate of house elves had been near and dear to Hermione’s heart since as far back as their school days, and some of the reports Ron had been forced to dig through regarding their illegal transport had been quite gruesome. But there was another reason that he had been forced to keep her in the dark.

The prime suspect, the person that all of their reconnaissance suggested was at least the primary courier of the enslaved elves, if not the head of the operation, was someone she knew.

Ron rubbed tiredly at his eyes. It was only eight o’clock, quite early by his recent standards, but he was exhausted. He stood up from his desk, intent on the largest cup of coffee the cafeteria had to offer, when a small brown owl flew into his office. Ron reached up with a roll of his eyes and snatched him just before he flew headlong into the bookcase. “Merlin, Pig, you never learn.” Pig hooted happily at him, oblivious to his near-accident, and let Ron take the note from his leg before giving himself a treat from the bowl on Ron’s desk.

_Going to stay at the Burrow tonight. See you tomorrow. Love, Hermione_

Ron frowned. Hermione’s brief note had him suddenly more alert than the coffee could ever have made him. He rushed out of his office and down the hall to the apparation point, appearing in the living room of the flat they shared with a pop. “Hermione?” he called, hoping she hadn’t already left. He would go to the Burrow if he had to, but he was anticipating a fight, and he didn’t want to have it in front of his mum. Hermione had never spent the night away from their flat before. Not because of something like this.

To his relief, she entered the room from the kitchen, her beaded bag slung over her shoulder. As impressed as he still was by the magic of it, by _her_ , he couldn’t help but think that he didn’t know if she had enough stuff for one night in there, or a week, or even longer. “Is that all it takes to get you home, then?” she quipped tiredly.

“I got your note,” he replied lamely.

“I assumed as much.” A heavy silence hung between them until Hermione said, “Relax, Ron. I’m just going to stay with your parents for a night or two. Don’t make this more than it is.”

“More than—“ Ron sputtered. “You’re not sleeping here tonight, what am I _supposed_ to make of that?”

“I’m just tired of being alone at night. You come in at all hours, half the time you’re already gone again before I even get up…” She sighed, but finally crossed the room to slip her arms around his waist, which relaxed him a bit. “I miss you. Even when you’re here, you’re not _here_.”

“You know I can’t talk about it.”

Hermione pulled away again, abruptly fired up. “I know, Ron, I _know_ , but it’s been months! You always tell me _something_. And I know it’s a big, important case, or you wouldn’t be working yourself half to death on it, but tell me _something_. Are you at least close to solving it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Right. I have to go, then.” She brushed past him towards the Floo, but he swept her back into his arms before she could get there. “Your mum’s expecting me,” she muttered, not returning his embrace this time.

“I love you, Hermione,” he said in answer. “Please don’t forget that.”

“I haven’t. And I love you, too.” She pulled away and gave him a kiss so brief it was almost chaste. “Goodnight.” She disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace before he could mount any further protest, and he was right behind her, back to the office.

***

The papers were swimming in front of his eyes. Hermione had been staying at the Burrow for nearly a week now, and the case had gotten, impossibly, more stressful. Their suspect was due for a visit to Britain that very weekend, and if everything went according to plan, and Ron’s team was able to intercept the transfer, it would move the investigation forward by leaps and bounds. They had been instructed to bring the suspect in for questioning regardless of the presence of a shipment, and although it would hardly be pleasant to do so, Ron had insisted that he be the one to take the lead. He owed it to Hermione to make sure the interrogation was fair, and besides, he was selfishly hoping that they had the wrong man. Suspect was one thing. Guilty was another, and it wasn’t news he wanted to break to his fiancée.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, she appeared in the doorway of his office. “Hi,” she said tentatively. “Busy?”

“That’s a silly question,” Ron replied with a half-smile, but he tucked the parchments he was studying away into a folder and slid it to the side of his desk. Hermione took it for the invitation it was and shut the door softly behind her, circling his desk to sit on the edge in front of him.

“I know you’re close to something,” she said without preamble. Ron raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s a small office, I hear things.” She gave him a smile, and he placed a hand on her leg, fingertips just beneath the hem of her skirt. “This week has been awful, you know,” she said softly. “I know we’re not exactly fighting, but it feels like we are, and I hate it.”

Ron nodded. They had seen each other exactly twice, passing in the hallways, and aside from the memo she had sent him each night, letting him know that she was staying at the Burrow _again_ , they had barely communicated either. Ron hated it too.

“I just wanted to come by to wish you luck. And to tell you to be safe.” She slid off his desk and his hand slid higher on her leg as a result and she didn’t protest. “ _Please_ be safe,” she whispered, threading her hands into his hair as she leaned closer.

Ron stood and closed the distance between them, kissing her eagerly as his free hand snuck around her back. It was incredibly tempting not to stop, and the way she was pressing her hips against his told him she wouldn’t be entirely opposed to that idea either, but it was mid-afternoon, and the department was still crawling with personnel. (That one night in the lockers, Ron had been the only poor sod left of the Aurors, and they hadn’t been worried about getting walked in on after midnight.) Besides, if he could only focus on finishing this case, they would have all the time in the world. With that thought, Ron reluctantly pulled back, leaving his arms around her as she brushed gently at his hair.

“If everything goes to plan,” he said slowly, and Hermione was instantly at attention. “We’ll be apprehending the suspect tomorrow. He’s due in London at noon.”

Hermione sighed. “I almost wish you didn’t tell me that. I’ll be worried sick about you.”

“I’m not going on the arrest. I’m leading interrogation.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it? You’re usually in the thick of things.”

“Not this time.”

“Why not? Or can’t you tell me?”

Ron looked into her earnest brown eyes, and he _wanted_ to tell her, he really did. But it would only be a few more days, hopefully, and then he could tell her everything. “I love you,” he said instead.

Hermione smirked. “I guess that’s a no, then.” She leaned up to give him a last lingering kiss as a knock sounded on his door. Ron fought off a groan of annoyance as Hermione pulled away and stepped to the side of his desk to give the illusion of a respectable distance between them.

“Come in!”

One of his junior aurors entered the room and looked immediately bashful as he registered Hermione’s presence. Perhaps they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were. “Sorry to interrupt, Auror Weasley. Deputy Granger.” She nodded in acknowledgement. “There’s been a change of plans. Our contact in Magical Games and Sports has just informed us that the suspect is arriving today. In an hour, in fact. The team is mobilizing now to make the arrest, and I’m heading down to ready the interrogation room for you.”

“Great, thank you. Be right there.”

“This whole thing has been about _Quidditch_?” Hermione asked incredulously, whirling to face Ron. “What are they smuggling, improperly weighted quaffles?”

“No, ma’am, we believe the Quidditch team is a front for—“

“ _Thank you_ , Avery,” Ron cut him off pointedly. The younger man glanced at Hermione, but took the dismissal and left the room, closing the door behind him. “I’d tell you if it was that simple.”

“You _could_ tell me anyway,” Hermione said with a glare. “I know my clearance is high enough for this case. So if you won’t tell me what’s going on, at least tell me _why_ you haven’t told me. Because the only reason I haven’t marched down to the archives and checked out the case files is out of respect for you. You could at least give me the same courtesy.”

Ron sighed, and they stared at each other for several long moments before he finally conceded. “You have a… _personal_ connection to this case.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not involved at all.”

“The subject matter is…” Ron hesitated, looking for the right word. “Sensitive.”

Hermione’s look darkened. “Not that I don’t appreciate your concern,” she shot back in a tone that implied the exact opposite of what she was saying, “but after having fought the same bloody war that you did, I don’t think you have any right to decide for me what’s too _sensitive_.”

“Okay, fine. You really want to know?” Ron snapped at her. “It’s elves, Hermione. Someone is smuggling house elves back into the country.” She took a step back, visibly shocked.

“House elves? _House elves_?” If anything, she looked even angrier than before, though whether that was directed at him or at the people defying the very first law she’d had passed into legislation, Ron couldn’t be sure. “And you didn’t think, as the person who wrote the law to end the enslavement of elves, that I should be involved?!”

Ron forced himself to calm down; one of them had to, and he had a subject to interrogate in less than an hour. “Frankly, Hermione, no. Your department writes the laws, and mine enforces them. If I needed your help, I would have asked for it.”

“It’s not about my _help_ , it’s about—“ She huffed irritably and swiped at her eyes before turning abruptly to the door. “I have work to do.” The door slammed shut behind her, and Ron flopped back into his chair, wondering if he had chosen to share with her the right reason why he had kept her in the dark, or if she would have been less angry had he divulged that his team was on their way to arrest Viktor Krum.

***

It was another very late night. Ron had spent most of the evening questioning Krum, to no avail. Krum was maintaining his innocence, claiming to have no knowledge of any illegal house elf trading. Ron had appealed to him, both as a law enforcement officer and a friend (that was a loose definition of their relationship; Krum’s friendship was with Hermione, though he and Ron had at least become friend _ly_ over the years), to consent to Veritaserum, but Krum had refused, and Ron’s hands were tied. His team had intercepted Krum’s gear, which included a dozen house elves who had been transported from Bulgaria in the equivalent of Hermione’s beaded bag and were subsequently being treated at St. Mungo’s.

He needed a break, and he needed coffee, so he gathered his notes and excused himself from the interrogation room under Krum’s unrelenting glare. To his surprise, considering it was after midnight, the gallery was not empty. “You could have told me,” Hermione said softly, nodding toward the two-way glass and handing him one of the large cups of coffee she was holding. “I wouldn’t have been angry.”

Ron took a long sip of the coffee before giving her a grateful kiss on the cheek. “How’d you find out?”

“It was all over the Wireless. Your mum was quite annoyed, actually; they interrupted an interview with Celestina Warbeck for the breaking news.”

“Bloody media,” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes. “If it’s not him, they’ll have ruined the whole investigation.”

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating before asking, “You think there’s a chance he’s not involved, then?”

“It doesn’t look good, evidence-wise, but he swears he’s innocent and…” Ron sighed. “I think I believe him.” Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Ron rolled his eyes again. “Yes, yes, Ron’s so mature now, blah, blah,” he joked, and Hermione laughed.

“If only we had a time-turner so your fourteen-year-old self could see how things turned out,” she teased.

“He’s a decent bloke. I can say that now that I’m not worried about him stealing my girl.”

“I wasn’t your girl when we were fourteen,” Hermione retorted with an exaggerated air of defiance. It was Ron’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and Hermione laughed again. “Okay, right, scratch that. Been yours longer than I’ll ever admit, out loud.” She smiled and stepped into his willing embrace. “Do what you have to do, Ron,” she said softly, speaking into the front of his jumper. “I know that you’ll do what you can for him—for _me_ —and I know you’ll be fair, whatever happens.”

Ron pulled back to kiss her softly. “You saying that means everything to me. This hasn’t been easy, you know.”

“I know. For me, either. I do understand why you kept it from me, this particular case, but let’s not do it again, okay?”

“Deal.” She leaned up and kissed him again. “I should…” He gestured toward the interrogation room. Hermione nodded.

“I’ll be at home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’m sorry that I made you come home to an empty house while you were dealing with all this.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I understand too. But let’s not do it again?” Hermione chuckled.

“Deal.”

The sun was up by the time Ron finally Flooed back to their flat, the closing case paperwork having taken so long that the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ had beaten him home, delivering the news to Hermione before he could. She was sitting in the kitchen sipping her tea, the paper spread wide on the table in front of her, so absorbed in the article that she didn’t hear him come in. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she leapt out of the chair to run to him and throw her arms around him.

“Oh, Ron, I’m so relieved! That it wasn’t him, that the case is over…” She pulled away slightly to rain kisses across his cheeks. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Ron shrugged. “Wasn’t even my doing, really. I was still in with Krum when they arrested his trainer.” They hadn’t been far off their mark: the Bulgarian national Quidditch team had been at the forefront of the illegal elf smuggling, the frequent international travel making an excellent cover for it, but Krum hadn’t been involved at all. He hadn’t even known about it.

“You’re too modest,” Hermione scolded. “This whole investigation was your doing. And you’ll allow me to be proud of you.”

Ron yawned, but couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face. “Yes, dear,” he teased.

“Go get some sleep.” Hermione placed a lingering kiss on his lips and whispered in a way that pushed sleep to the bottom of his priority list, “And after you’ve rested up, we’ll start making up for all the time we’ve been missing.”


End file.
